Mafia Boss's Twins Saw A Blind Woman With A Fierce Dog — Her Face Froze Them Instantly

The air inside the safe room was quiet, filtered by an independent ventilation system. Monitored security screens on the wall displayed live feeds from the cameras around the estate, though several feeds were flickered out with static.

Ros stood on a chair, pointing at one of the active monitors. "Look! It’s Daddy!"

Corsica rushed to the screens, though she could only hear the muffled audio coming from the integrated speakers. "What is happening, Ros? Tell me!"

"Daddy is in the grand hallway," Ros said, her voice shaking but clear. "He has a big gun. And... and there’s a bad man in a suit talking to him!"

Outside in the grand hallway, the chandeliers flickered under emergency power.

Paxton stood at the base of the double staircase, flanked by four surviving Marchetti enforcers. Across the room, near the shattered front doors, stood Victor Vance and Dominic Brennan, surrounded by eight heavily armed mercenaries.

Dominic Brennan was a ragged, brutal-looking man with a scarred jaw and cold blue eyes—a man who had inherited his family’s violence without any of their intelligence.

"Where is she, Marchetti?" Dominic sneered, raising his automatic rifle. "Hand over the blind girl and the Giordano watch, and maybe Vance will let you live long enough to watch your empire get liquidated!"

Victor Vance smiled smoothly, adjusting his silk tie despite the bodies lying around the foyer. "It’s over, Paxton. The Syndicate Council has already voted in absentia. With you dead, I take control of the North End shipping routes and the Giordano trust fund. It’s clean. It’s business."

"You killed my wife three years ago, Vance," Paxton said, his voice terrifyingly quiet, entirely devoid of fear.

Vance shrugged elegantly. "Celeste was getting too close to discovering my offshore routing network. She had to be removed. It’s a pity about her twin... she should have stayed dead in Maine."

"You made one mistake, Vance," Paxton said softly.

Vance raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what was that?"

Paxton looked up at the ceiling. "You assumed I came to this hallway alone."

Suddenly, the high glass dome above the foyer shattered inward as three tactical strike teams from the Italian Syndicate—led by Sal Giordano’s personal, hidden vanguard—roped down from the roof with silenced carbines blazing.

POP! POP! POP! POP!

The mercenaries were cut down in a hail of precision crossfire before they could swing their weapons upward. Dominic Brennan screamed in outrage, turning to fire at the rafters, but Paxton sprinted across the polished floor with terrifying speed, driving a combat knife straight through Dominic’s shoulder, pinning him against the marble pillar.

Dominic shrieked in pain, dropping his rifle.

Victor Vance turned to run toward the open front doors, but Sal Giordano stepped out from behind the heavy velvet curtains, holding a heavy double-barreled shotgun.

BOOM!

The blast tore into the floor right at Vance’s feet, sending stone shrapnel into his legs. Vance fell hard onto his back, screaming as his polished suit was ruined with blood.

Paxton walked slowly over to Vance, his boots clicking heavily against the bloody marble. He stood over the writhing traitor, his pistol aimed directly between Vance’s eyes.

"Please!" Vance gasped, holding up his gold-ringed hands, his suave composure completely destroyed. "Paxton! We can make a deal! Half the trust! I’ll give you half!"

"My wife’s life wasn't worth half a trust, Vance," Paxton said coldly.